The way in…
I witnessed myself:
Trapped in a year,
a model in a bottle,
sealed in the pressure,
silencing the spite.
The bottle fused my marrow,
filled it with shots of hate.
Falsely told by the siren
which soaked into the stomach.
Trapped with that false blame.
Straining.
It swelled the bowels,
air bubbling up inside.
Restrained,
in the bottle we made
to breathe together, but
it grew smaller when you filled the poison.
So we consumed it,
shot after shot.
My body absorbed the lead,
sinking me.
The lie was that it was the only way:
to use gravity and liquor,
to keep us down.
The pressure crushed my defenses.
It twisted my shell,
and punctured my lungs
enough to say with a gasp
to stop your brewing.
Cuts made deep
with razor blades
spilled into liquid, alone
sealed with your iron bitter taste.
For a year, I drowned in the bottle.
It slipped me into a coma.
After you opened the cork and left,
you left me soaking in here,
your hate still tainting the waters
the pressure at the bottom still crushing me.
The way out…
I popped the cap:
My selfishness settled
for what lied beneath.
Your ropes released.
Capsule cracked and draining.
There you are
and what you left
lingering.
Deep in my throat,
forced into my guts,
is a different containment:
aftermath.
Bruises heal,
but ulcers inside,
fester and feast unhindered.
Like swallowed shards,
sharp edges of the glass
scrape,
swirling into blood, acid, and hate.
Cipher Eye Media 